You Really Got Me (Rock Star Romance #1) by Erika Kelly Page B

Sitting here, talking to her, he wanted to know more about her. She
interested
him.
    And, of course, he couldn’t help noticing her mouth, her delicate wrists, the tiny little constellation of freckles on her right shoulder. Seriously, how cute was that? No freckles anywhere else but the little constellation on her shoulder.
    “I can hear you composing in your room.”
    Well, that ripped him out of his dangerous thoughts. He turned back to the counter, reaching into a bag and pulling out boxes of cereal. She joined him. They worked quietly, side by side.
    “You practice every day.” She looked at him, but he concentrated on shoving the boxes into the cabinet over the refrigerator.
    “I guess I have my answer as to why your songs are so good.”
    “No idea what you’re talking about.” He handed her some boxes of pasta, since she stood in front of the pantry.
    She took them, lining them up on a shelf. “Oh, please. You like when I talk straight to you, but you don’t want to be straight with me? Stop hiding behind this clichéd bad-boy persona. There’s more to you than a singer in a rock band who likes to get laid.” She leaned in close and fake whispered. “I saw the book you’re reading.”
    “You’ve been in my room?”
    “Down, boy. You left your laundry in the dryer. I simply put your basket inside your room. Your copy of
The Jazz Theory Book
was lying on your bed. I won’t tell anybody that not only do you work on your songwriting every day, but you study across genres, which would explain the depth and breadth of your material. Self-taught man, huh?”
    Reaching down to the bottom of a bag, he pulled out some boxes of butter. “I went to UT with your brother.”
    “But you dropped out. You both did.”
    “Halfway through junior year. The band took off. Gotta hit it while it’s hot.” He handed her jars of pasta sauce and watched her slide them onto a shelf.
    She turned to him, hands reaching, but he had nothing more to give. Their gazes caught. Her expression changed. Her features softened. Her lips parted. Slater’s pulse quickened, and he felt panicky. He needed to get away, but he couldn’t move. His feet wouldn’t move.
    And then she smiled. Soft, warm, sweet. A slow spread that filled him with heat and happiness because it said,
I like you
.
    And that got him moving. She definitely shouldn’t be liking him. Not Derek’s sister. Not this nice girl who wouldn’t like anything about his life. He headed out of the kitchen, pausing only to say, “Let me know next time you need a ride.” He took the stairs three at a time, shutting himself in his room.
    —
    Emmie pressed her ear to Slater’s door. Not a sound. Too bad. She loved hearing him work on melodies. Everyone joked about his lifestyle, but she couldn’t figure out when he did all this “banging.” The bar where he worked closed at two AM, and for the last several weeks he’d come home well before three. He got up early—completely contrary to what Derek had promised—and spent most of the day reading, writing, or composing.
    So, what gives?
Why did he let everyone think he was such a player? She knocked, hoping he wasn’t napping. Lord knew he needed his sleep. If he wasn’t performing, he was bartending. The guy worked all the time. How he thought he could turn out to be a loser like his dad she didn’t know. The missing ingredient in most artists was discipline. Slater had it in spades.
    “Yeah?”
    Oh, he
was
in there. “Are you busy?”
    “Come in.” He sounded sleepy. She cringed.
    She opened the door and peered in to find him sprawled on his bed. He was a big guy, but the way he took up the bed, his feet almost hanging off the mattress, made him look like a conquering warrior. A pillow bunched under his head, a book lying on his chest, he rubbed his eyes.
    “What’s up?” he asked.
    “Did I wake you?”
    He lifted the jazz theory book. “Can’t imagine how I dozed off.”
    She smiled, coming in a little